What Science Fiction Leaves Out of the Future, Part, 4: No Bark and No Bite

After one discusses
how science fiction futures appear to omit such major aspects of life as the
profession of journalism, concern for the future, and the pursuit of pleasure,
analyzing the typical pets of the genre might seem a descent into the trivial.
On the other hand, people can be passionate indeed about the animals they love,
and venturing to suggest that science fiction prefers one favorite pet in its
futures while disdaining another may arouse more furor than anything else I
have written during a career often marked by controversies. Further, I do not
approach this topic without bias because, as a lifelong cat-lover and lifelong
dog-hater, I most definitely, so to speak, have a dog in this race. Still, with
as much objectivity as I can muster, I wish to argue that dogs represent
another conspicuous omission in the futures of science fiction.

In our past and our
present, humans have enjoyed the company of both cats and dogs as household
companions, in roughly equivalent numbers: according to one recent survey,
there are now more cats than dogs in our houses, but more of our houses have
dogs (since cat owners are more likely to have more than one cat). Yet, in
examining science fiction visions of tomorrow, we encounter a strange
dichotomy. Cats are virtually ubiquitous: they are central figures in Robert A.
Heinlein stories like "Ordeal in Space" (1948) and
The Door into Summer (1957); travel in
spaceships in Arthur C. Clarke's "The Haunted Spacesuit" (1958),
Gordon R. Dickson's Mission to Universe (1965), the film
Alien (1979), and the
series Star Trek: The Next Generation (1987-1994); are intelligent aliens in the
Star Trek episode
"Assignment Earth" (1968) and the film
The Cat from Outer Space (1978); and employ enhanced powers to function as heroes in Cordwainer Smith's
"The Game of Rat and Dragon" (1956) and Andre Norton's
The Zero Stone (1968). There are
also numerous stories about humanoid cats or catlike aliens, including the
infamous film Cat Women of the Moon
(1953), Smith's "The Ballad of Lost
C'Mell" (1962), and Fritz Leiber's The Wanderer
(1964). And it is not
only in literature and film that one frequently finds cats: as anyone who has
walked through the art show at a science fiction convention can testify,
science-fictional or fantastic cats are a regular theme in the paintings,
sketches, and sculptures on display. Indeed, cats are so common in the genre
that there was actually a panel at the 2008 Los Angeles Science Fiction
Convention on the topic of "Are There Too Many Cats in Science
Fiction?"

Dogs, in contrast,
appear to be relatively rare in the science fiction futures of all media, with few
examples coming to mind. As one piece of evidence, I found that a Google search
for the exact phrase "cats in science fiction" yielded 368 hits,
while a similar search for "dogs in science fiction" yielded only
seven. Could the reason be simply that most members of the science fiction
community, like myself, tend to like cats better than dogs? Or is there some
logical reason for this curious imbalance in the genre's predictions?

One must begin by
acknowledging that there is one type of science fiction future in which dogs
remain prominent: prophecies of either a forced or voluntary return to a
pre-technological existence. After all, before the development of modern
civilization, dogs were unquestionably valuable companions: in a world of
constant danger, it was useful for vulnerable humans to have animal companions
with superior hearing who could alert their masters to the approach of
predators or enemies and, when people were attacked, a loyal dog could be an
effective ally in fighting off assailants. Thus, in pessimistic science fiction
stories depicting futures in which our advanced civilization has been destroyed
or abandoned—like George R. Stewart's Earth Abides
(1949), Harlan
Ellison's "A Boy and His Dog" (1969), or the film
I Am Legend (2006)—it is not
surprising to find that dogs remain important friends to humanity; in one such
story, Clifford D. Simak's City
(1952), intelligent dogs have even replaced humans as the
rulers of a pastoral future world where cats are curiously absent. Similarly,
one would naturally expect to find dogs on Earthlike planets or space habitats
where human settlers are leading a rustic lifestyle; for example, an adorable
dog named Nixie plays a central role in Heinlein's "Tenderfoot in
Space" (1958), as he accompanies his young master and his family when they
emigrate to Earth's newest frontier, the jungles of Venus.

However, a majority of
science fiction stories envision futures distinguished by ongoing scientific
advances, on Earth and on other worlds, and in such environments, as is already
the case today, dogs might be regarded as nothing more than obsolete
technology: we now have burglar alarms to detect intruders, and we now have
mace and pepper spray to ward off assailants. Nobody in a futuristic society is
going to need a dog around the house as much as their ancestors did.

Of course, one can
argue with equal force that cats represent obsolete technology as well, since
today, we also have other ways to rid our households of rodents and other small
pests, the traditional function of cats. Yet, cats can readily justify their
continuing presence in our homes, not only because they, like dogs, can still
be lovable friends, but also because they have proven to be remarkably
adaptable to our modern, cramped, urban styles of living. Cats are happy to
stay indoors all of the time, to spend most of their time sleeping in some
comfortable location, and to use litter boxes when they have to relieve
themselves. For such reasons, it made perfect sense for Data of Star Trek: The Next
Generation to have a pet cat on board the Enterprise—such an animal
would be no trouble at all on a starship.

In contrast, dogs
regularly wish to go outdoors and, if kept indoors too long, they can become
rambunctious and destructive, running around rooms, knocking over furniture,
chewing on shoes, and so on. For dog-owners on Earth, now and in the future,
this problem can be solved by the daily chore of walking the dog. Yet, dogs
accompanying humans who venture into space would instantly die if they went
outside of their spaceships or their outposts on airless planets. Moreover,
even if one could keep a dog happy in a spaceship or on the Moon by giving it a
special spacesuit to wear for outdoor excursions, there remains the indelicate
reason why dogs always have to go outdoors, a sort of business that
cannot be taken care of while wearing a spacesuit in a vacuum. True, systems
for eliminating waste could be built into doggy spacesuits, as they are now
built into human spacesuits, but what about those times when dogs are indoors
and their needs are urgent? It seems that dog-owners in space would be obliged
either to force their dogs to wear spacesuits all of the time, or to routinely
deal with unpleasant messes on board.

Thus, when you are
cataloging all of the innumerable mistakes that doomed the television series Star Trek:
Enterprise (2001-2005), do not forget to include the bizarre decision to
have Captain Archer bring a dog along on board his starship
Enterprise. Indeed, if it seems that the crew of this series never quite bonded the
ways that other Star Trek crews bonded, if these characters never seem quite as
comfortable carrying out their duties as the characters from the other series,
consider the fact that these crew members are living and working in a
starship that must have been permeated with the faint-but-constant odor of dog
poop.

All right, you say, we
can certainly posit that scientists of the future will come up with some
convenient, unobtrusive method to solve this particular problem, but the
excretory habits of dogs represent only one aspect of a broader issue. Whatever
other characteristics we wish to observe in our future worlds, there is an
almost-universal desire for a future that will be clean—indeed, almost
antiseptically clean. As I have noted elsewhere, the buildings of today that
most resemble the buildings of science fiction futures are hospitals, where
everything is always spic-and-span; in the towering skyscrapers and starships
of tomorrow, we never observe spider webs, smudges, or piles of clutter. This
is another reason why cats can so easily fit into the future, for they are
obsessed with being clean, and indeed, may devote hours every day to
meticulously licking and grooming themselves.

However, whatever else
one might say in defense of dogs, it must be conceded that they are not by
nature clean. In addition to the random manner in which they dispose of
their waste products, dogs are never disinclined to get dirty, and never do
anything to keep themselves clean. One of the ordeals of dog ownership is the
need to regularly give the dog a bath, a task that, given the dog's persistent
refusal to cooperate, may not get any easier with advanced technology. Thus, in
visions of an immaculate future ranging from Things to Come
(1936) to Gattaca (1997), it is almost
impossible to imagine dogs running freely down their corridors; they would be
fiercely incongruous in such pristine settings. However, a cat lying on a shelf
somewhere and observing passers-by would not seem out of place.

Writers and filmmakers
have other motives for excluding dogs from their future worlds. In years to
come, we like to imagine, humans will be more mature, more sedate, more like
our parents, and conspicuous displays of emotion will be frowned upon. And cats
represent the epitome of cool, always determined to observe strange events with
no sign of a reaction save for widened eyes. When their masters come home after
a long absence, cats typically will first ignore them, then casually stride
over near them and present themselves for a little petting. Given their
constant air of calm and worldly wisdom, it is hardly surprising that the
ancient Egyptians chose to worship cats, for they truly comport themselves like
superior beings.

While cats are always
under control, however, dogs are always out of control, reacting in a
wildly-physical manner to any provocations; when their owners come home, they
run madly toward them, panting with joy, and may even knock them over with the
exuberance of their welcome. While cats always act like adults, in other words,
dogs always act like children, and no sane person could ever contemplate
worshiping a dog. Such creatures that perpetually display immature behavior,
then, would inevitably seem inappropriate in the setting of an advanced future
world. Consider another example, the briefly-glimpsed future world of Bill and Ted's
Excellent Adventure (1989), wherein our descendants sit calmly on thrones, listening
to the world-transforming music of the Wyld Stallyns; one can readily envision
a cat sleeping in one of their laps, but a dog that runs up and yaps at the
heels of Bill and Ted would utterly spoil the mood.

In sum, I would argue,
when writers are crafting their future worlds, they find it easy to include
cats, since these animals would appear to epitomize the predicted future of the
human race—indoors, clean, and sedate. Conversely, since they see dogs as
epitomizing humanity's outdoor, dirty, and rambunctious past, they think of
them only when developing futures that resemble early, pre-industrial
societies. To answer the question that those panelists at Loscon wrestled with:
no, there are not too many cats in science fiction, because it is reasonable to
assume that cats will become our principal companions in the future, accompanying
humans as they construct and inhabit the soaring metropolises of the future,
and as they travel in spaceships to explore and colonize other worlds.

Interestingly, there
are clear signs that scientists on the frontiers of technology share this
attitude and are working hard to better prepare cats for their future role as
humanity's best friends. To address the main reason why people today do not
have cats—because they are terribly allergic to them—a company has developed
and is now selling allergen-free cats; they are rather pricey at present, but
are sure to become more affordable in the years to come. To increase their
value as the perfect home decorations, some South Korean scientists announced a
few years ago that they had bioengineered a fluorescent cat that attractively
glows in the dark. And to maintain continuity in their relationships with
animals that unfortunately rarely live more than fifteen or twenty years,
people now can also pay large sums of money to have their cats cloned, so that
they can effectively enjoy the company of the same cat throughout their lives.

In contrast, I am not
aware of any parallel efforts to develop scientifically-improved dogs—say, dogs
that would use a litter box or dogs with an added instinctive desire to keep
themselves clean—probably because practical-minded scientists, in light of all
of the issues I have raised, suspect that there would be in the future little
profit to be made from such projects. Indeed, the major focus of the current
research I have heard about is not to improve dogs, but rather to replace
dogs—with robot dogs, which can provide needed companionship without the
liabilities of biological dogs, since they do not have to go to the bathroom,
and since they can be turned off whenever their activities would be
problematic. Common enough in science fiction as to be satirized in Woody
ALLEN's Sleeper (1975), robot dogs of
several varieties can now be purchased and are becoming better and better at
emulating the real things. (I believe they are especially popular in Japan.) Yet, I know of no efforts to build robot cats—probably because, I would argue,
scientists recognize that cats will fit right in to our futures, so that no
artificial substitutes will be required. Thus, the evidence could not be
clearer that the scientific community, by and large, has reached the same
conclusion as science fiction—that cats are better suited than dogs to be
integral members of the human households of the future.

I trust it is clear
that I am not calling upon people to abandon their dogs, and I am not
predicting that dogs will become less common in the future. People have long
demonstrated a willingness to cling to customs and beliefs that most would
regard as relics of the past, such as tattoos and astrology, and many people
will probably still want to have dogs even while inhabiting the sorts of
futuristic environments where, I have maintained, dogs would be incongruous.
All I am asserting is that, when science fiction writers build future worlds
with advanced technology, they characteristically sense that dogs would not
really belong there, for the reasons outlined above, and hence tend to omit
them from their stories. Whether people will ever respond to their deductions
in the real-life decisions they make about household pets is another question
altogether, and one I am not qualified to answer.

As a final thought: if
science fiction writers have indeed taken sides in the ancient debate between
cats and dogs, one might fault them for a failure of imagination since they so rarely
consider another alternative: the emergence of a new sort of pet that might, in
some situations, be even more appealing than a cat or dog. These could include
an existing animal newly popularized as a pet—like the bush baby requested by
Heywood R. Floyd's daughter in the film 2001: A Space Odyssey
(1968); a
bioengineered modification of a terrestrial species—like the mutated
cockroaches that serve as space pets in Bruce Sterling's "Spider
Rose" (1982); or an alien creature introduced into human company—like the
Martian "flat cats" in Heinlein's The Rolling Stones
(1952) and their
cousins, the tribbles, in David Gerrold's Star Trek
episode, "The
Trouble with Tribbles" (1967). The relative paucity of such examples, and
the ubiquity of cats, indicates that science fiction writers, even while
creating bizarre new future worlds, can also be stubbornly traditional in their
ways of thinking, forever devoted to old friends and unwilling to transfer
their affections to new friends. And in this respect, they ironically resemble
dogs more than cats.